Over the Edge
by Gandalf3213
Summary: One unstable patient, one loaded gun, one BJ. Baracaded in the operating room until a chopper can come brings some of the longest hours in everyone's lives.
1. The Patient

**I don't own MASH**

BJ wasn't even aware he was doing surgery anymore. He was asleep on his feet with his eyes open, trying to block out the boys faces, trying to just "sew 'em up and move 'em out" He was getting pretty good at thinking that way.

"One kid left!" Klinger called into the operating room. His voice betrayed that he, too, was utterly exhausted.

Sighing, BJ took off his gloves, "Over here, Klinger."

The boy that was put in front of him had dark hair and olive-colored skin. A long gash down his leg was the only thing wrong with him. BJ examined it, wondering how deep it went. One muscle was damaged, but other then that, all that was needed was stitches.

Less then a half-hour later, BJ collapsed on the bench outside the operating room. He leaned his head against the wall, flexing his fingers and toes, trying to get some feeling back into them.

He didn't know how long he had been asleep, but some time later Hawkeye was rubbing his shoulders, leading him back to the Swamp. BJ collapsed on his bed, trying not to feel anything. He liked his body numb.

The last thing he remembered before sleep took him over was Hawkeye throwing a blanket over him before falling into his own bed.

* * *

"Twenty-one hours," Hawkeye sighed, glancing over at BJ, who was still yawning. "Twenty-one hours of surgery and not one kid died."

"Yet," BJ reminded him, and Hawkeye nodded. Post-Op saw almost as many deaths as the OR.

They brought their trays back to a table. Twenty hours in surgery made even the nuclear-made food they got seem almost edible. They were soon joined by Margaret and the Colonel, both looking as tired as the other surgeons.

They ate in silence, none of them wanting to face the day. It would only bring death, as there were two soldiers who were hovering on the precipice.

BJ stood up first. He had drawn for first round. He started towards Post-Op, dropping his tray on the way.

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	2. The Gun

**I don't own it. Nope.**

BJ yawned, checking the clipboard that hung in front of the bed. Never mind the fact that he had only gotten two hours of sleep after the marathon in OR. It was eleven o'clock, and BJ was tired. The sky had long ago turned from dark blue to midnight black with nothing showing. Maybe the army had warned the stars not to shine in Korea.

"Hey Doc, I think something's wrong." BJ looked up, trying to find the body that went with the voice. He went over to a boy with curly blond hair that was matted to his head. "What's up Williams?" he asked, trying to suppress another yawn.

The boy winced. "It's my chest. It feels so heavy, like, it's hard to breathe."

BJ nodded, "Well, you got shot in the chest. Hawkeye fixed you up pretty well, but it'll still hurt a bit. If it doesn't stop by the day after tomorrow, tell me." The boy nodded gratefully. BJ tried to smile at him, but his muscles didn't want to obey him.

Moving further down the line, BJ came across the only other person who wasn't asleep. The name on the clipboard said Rice, and BJ recognized him as the last boy he had sewed up in OR. "How're you doing Rice?" BJ asked, sitting next to the bed.

The boy's olive-colored face contorted into an expression of utter loathing. "Why do you care doc?"

BJ shook his head, "do you have any idea how lucky you are? I bet you any one of these guys here want to be in your place."

"I'll switch with them any time!" Rice spat out, his dark eyes wild. "At least they get to go home!"

"You don't want to go back to the line." It wasn't' a question, more of a resignation. So many kids didn't want to fight ― didn't want to have to kill other kids just as young as they were.

Maybe if the feeling was mutual, they could call the war on account of youth.

BJ forced himself to think positive about the situation. "At least you can walk. A boy came in here the other day and had to have both his legs amputated up to his knees." He didn't mention that they barely had to cut anything off, and the boy thanked them after they did it saying that the pain had hurt so much he would have shot himself if they hadn't made it go away.

"Whatever." the boy turned away from BJ, playing with something under the covers. BJ took this as his cue to leave. A couple hours from now he'd be asleep in his bunk.

Everything seemed to happen at once. A shot sounded from the bed BJ had just left, a bullet whizzed by BJ's head. He heard a nurse scream and the sound of running footsteps and a door opening and closing, but the sound that was loudest in the room was BJ's heart thumping against his chest as he looked at Rice hoisting himself onto his uninjured leg, a gun held in his hand.

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	3. The Rules

**don't own it**

Rice was past negotiations. His face glowed with madness as he smiled a wide, vacant smile that didn't reach his cold gray eyes. He watched as the nurse ran out the door before turning to BJ. He raised his gun and fired.

A searing pain shot through BJ's stomach. He'd been shot! The feeling was such a surprise that pain didn't come for a couple of seconds. When it did, BJ doubled over, thrusting his fist into the bloody hole. He looked up at Rice, who seemed satisfied.

"Please," BJ panted, thinking quickly. "Let's...let's get Colonel Potter. He'll help you." He wanted to get this mad-man away from the patients. Williams was already about to fall out of his cot in his efforts to get away from the gun.

Rice nodded curtly, hauling BJ off the floor. Suddenly, a wave of nausea spread through the doctor's body, paralyzing him for a second. Rice pushed him through the doors in front of him, keeping the gun in the small of his back.

The entire camp seemed to be waiting outside Post-Op, with Hawkeye and Colonel Potter in front. BJ, doubled over, looked at Hawkeye, blinking away the black spots that swam in front of his eyes.

"Oh, Beej." Hawkeye sighed, seeing the blood that ran from his friend's wound. "Hey!" He shouted at the patient. "He needs a doctor, now!" Suddenly, Hawkeye wished he could make himself move closer. BJ was _right there_, no more then four yards away. At the same moment, Hawkeye realized he was a coward, and hated himself for it.

Colonel Potter assessed the situation quickly, his features becoming hard as he looked from the mad patient to the hurt doctor. He stepped forward, making his voice as low and calm as possible. "Listen, son," he said, addressing the patient. "Why don't you just let the man go, alright? We'll get you some help." What distressed Potter was the fact that the man, even though he had been in a hospital, had nothing seriously wrong with him except for a long stitched gash on his head.

The patient, Rice, kept smiling. "Do you think I'm a fool, old man?" he said, his voice high and loud. "This―" here he kicked BJ, "Is my bargaining piece. Now listen. I want a helicopter here by dawn, with a pilot able to drive to America in one flight. If I don't get that, I swear this man will die."

Hawkeye's face contorted in anger as he opened his mouth to say something, but a hand on his arm stayed his words. He looked over to Margaret, who's eyes were on BJ. She sensed his gaze and said, quietly, "Do you want to kill him?"

Hawkeye realized that, if he did say something, he would have set the patient off. A mad mental case was more then the 4077 could deal with.

Rice went on to say, "I will be in that building." He pointed to the large structure they used as the OR. "And if anyone tries to come in without my authorization, he _will_ be shot."

With that, Rice lifted BJ back to his feet and, holding the gun in front of him, walked through the crowd to the Operating Room untouched.

**How do you like that one?**


	4. The Realizations

**Sorry for the non-undate. School is brutal this time of year. Anyways...**

Margaret looked over at Hawkeye, who was staring unseeingly at the door through which BJ and Rice had walked through over ten minutes ago. His face showed no emotion but his eyes were wide with disbelief.

She put a hand on his shoulder, making him jump and turn around. "What is it, Margaret?"

Margaret was taken aback by the harshness in his tone, but let it pass, knowing that seeing your best friend hurt brought out strange emotions. "Are you alright Hawkeye?"

"No I'm not alright." Hawkeye muttered bitterly, turning his face away. "Why didn't someone _do_ something? We could take him. We outnumber him at least a hundred to one."

Margaret sighed. "Hawkeye, do you know the point of a hostage? If we had done anything, he would have killed BJ, you know it."

Hawkeye suddenly laughed, a harsh, cold laugh that didn't sound anything like him. The one laugh turned into a fit of laughter until Hawkeye was doubled over in hysteria. Margaret put her hand awkwardly around his shoulders until the fit subsided.

"You – you know what, Margaret?" Hawkeye asked, wiping tears of laughter from his face. "I'm such a coward I can't even go into a stupid room to save by best friend."

* * *

BJ sensed that Rice was pacing, but the throbbing pain in his side hurt him too much to make sure. Slowly, he inched towards the cabinets. He needed to dress this. Now. Too much blood was already pouring out of the deep wound. The problem with dressing it was that the bullet was still in there. 

Suddenly, he wished Hawkeye was there. Or Colonel Potter. He'd even settle for Charles or Klinger or Margaret. Just _someone_ in the room who didn't want to kill him.

Rice saw the bandage in his hand and swiped it away with one smooth stroke. Although BJ knew it was more then useless, he tried to plead with him. "Do you want me to die?"

The words came out so calmly it scared him. The only betrayal of his injury or fear was the slight crack in his voice at the end. Rice stared at him for a second before thrusting the bandages back in his hands.

BJ took them and started wrapping his side, knowing that he wasn't going to make it nearly tight enough. His hands were shaking, adding another obstacle to the already difficult task of wrapping yourself.

Somehow, BJ managed to get the bandage secure enough to stop the worst of the bleeding, but he was afraid it might be too little too late. Small dark worms were already at the edges of his vision, threatening to engulf him. He gulped, knowing that being unconscious would seriously impede his progress of talking this madman out of killing him.

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	5. The Conversations

**I own it not**

Klinger watched nervously as Colonel Potter argued on the phone with one of the big-wigs in charge of the choppers. "Yes I _know _that there's a large battle going on...of course I know our soldiers are first priority...yes, of course the choppers are the fastest mode of transportation but _sir_―" the man swelled, getting in a lungful of air before shouting.

"This man is important too! Without him, your fast planes will be worth nothing because the boys will still die! Now get one of those stupid birds over here this instant or _your_ men will suffer!"

Klinger inhaled sharply. He knew this was a bold move, probably a stupid one. If they couldn't get a chopper to come, BJ wouldn't last long. He hoped the Colonel knew what he was doing.

"Thank you sir, I'm glad you see it my way...I know, I can hold this guy off until the cloud clears, just knowing one of those pilots are on their way helps a lot." He hung up the phone with a weary smile, looking around at Klinger.

"Everything turn out alright then, sir?" Klinger asked, trying to sound as though they were talking about a shipment of salami and not a life-or-death situation.

"Son, that there was the best news I've had so far." Colonel Potter sat down heavily in his chair and stared blankly at the picture of his wife that sat there. Second ticked by, then, "How's Pierce doing?"

The thought of Hawkeye made Klinger shift uncomfortably. He'd seen him less then five minutes ago and though Father Mulcahy and Margaret were with him, Klinger wasn't sure that the captain was all _there_. "As well as could be expected given the...circumstances."

As soon as he said that Klinger wanted to laugh. Circumstances was a good word for this. What he really wanted to say was _as good as could be expected seeing as his best friend was just shot my a mad man and is probably going to die before a chopper could get here_ but he didn't think that would be very tactful.

Colonel Potter seemed to sense what Klinger had refrained from saying. "I think so too, son, but we got to be strong. It's going to be a hell of a night, and the party's just getting started."

* * *

BJ watched Rice pace back and forth, carrying his gun in his right hand. He opened his mouth twice before he finally got the words out. "Where you from?"

He hoped Rice would continue, for BJ's sake as much as the boys'. It was difficult for him to keep awake, and he knew it was because of loss of blood. A conversation would keep him awake. For now.

Rice looked at him through sightless eyes. "I don't know what you're aiming at, but I'd shut up if I were you."

He smiled, though it looked more like a grimace. "The party's just getting started."

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	6. The Rain

**MASH isn't mine.**

The pain in his side had gone down to a dull throb, brought afresh with every beat of BJ's heart. It redoubled whenever he moved. Yet he never took his eyes off of Rice. He still thought that there might be a chance that he could still stop what Rice was going to do.

"You know, right before I came here my wife had a baby." He tried to keep his voice light and even, though between the pain and his anxiety he didn't succeed well. "A little girl. She's just a year old now."

The younger man turned to face him, staring at him with flat black eyes. "So?" The word with spoken with so much venom that BJ physically flinched back.

"Her name is Erin." BJ kept talking, thinking that this could turn out one of two ways. Either Rice would put the gun down and start thinking logically or BJ would get another bullet ― this time through the head. "My wife's name is Peg. We were thinking about buying a house. A beautiful little place in―" the gun swung at his head, knocking him off the table and making a large gash on his head.

BJ tried to stand up before falling back again, gasping at the pain that was now coming both from his side and his head. He couldn't believe the pain. Looking up at Rice, he saw the cold, flat eyes looking back at him with neither malice nor compassion. They looked dead.

"No talking." His voice held no emotion and BJ wondered if he might have altered the boy's way of thinking a little.

* * *

"I don't want anything to drink Father."

Hawkeye pushed away the millionth cup of coffee, not looking at the man's pained face. He hadn't looked directly at anyone for over an hour. He was saving his gaze for the doors of the Operating Room, willing them to open so his friend could emerge.

Margaret sighed, wishing that Hawkeye would say something ― anything ― to her. She regretted now all the times she had told him to stop talking. If this was the alternative, she would have rathered Hawkeye talk all the time.

"You're not helping him, Hawkeye. Look, drink some coffee. It'll help." Margaret herself had a cup nesting between her fingers, untouched.

Father Mulcahy looked upset at Hawkeye's detachment. He looked the man over carefully, taking in the drawn face and deep circles that had been there countless nights before. Tonight they somehow seemed much more haunting tonight.

A light rain started to fall moistening the parched soil. Hawkeye's hand tightened to a fist clenched upon the table. His eyes looked through the droplets to the doors to the OR. Rain meant that the choppers wouldn't be able to fly. Not for a case like this. Not for BJ.

The doors remained resolutely shut.

**Reviews are nice...**


	7. The Seconds

**I own it. Not**

It was two in the morning. BJ knew that because of the clock that hung on the wall in OR, resolutely ticking by the seconds. To BJ, the sound was like the countdown to a death.

He had stopped trying to stem the flow of the bleeding at his side an hour ago and now sat there, listless, suspended in time only by his determination to get out of this alive. His will not to let his wife get a letter about her dead husband.

A clot had formed over the wound but BJ suspected too much blood had already been spilt. If he didn't get more in five or six hours he'd probably die.

Rice kept glancing at him. BJ didn't think he'd last until dawn. The rain had finally stopped. Did that mean a chopper would come early? Would a chopper come at all? BJ honestly didn't know. Honestly didn't care. Not at the moment. Not when the blackness was so inviting.

He would have preferred death now. Preferred blackness over the pain in his side that brought him agony with every beat of his heart. Preferred it to the terror brought to him every time Rice turned to look at him. Death wanted him. He could feel it hovering nearby, waiting.

More ticks, more seconds going by. He had never noticed seconds before ― like pennies they were trivial until they amounted to something bigger. Now seconds were his marker. He guessed that his life tonight would be marked in seconds.

Rice was fidgeting worse then ever now. His arms twitching, though his grip on the gun was such that it was turning his knuckles white. He was pacing the room, weaving between the cots, looking at BJ more often.

Then he sprung.

He wrenched BJ off the floor with strength past anything he should have been capable of. With a cry of rage he half-dragged, half-carried BJ out the double doors.

BJ was dropped onto wet dirt that was almost ― but not quite ― mud. He turned his head so he could look up into the face of a terrified Klinger just before he started shouting.

"Colonel Potter!"

The call wasn't necessary. The Colonel was already there, along with Hawkeye, Margaret, and Father Mulcahy. Colonel Potter's face was grim as he looked at Rice and BJ. BJ tried to smile, but found he couldn't quite manage it.

"I need a jeep, I can't wait any longer!" Rice's voice was high and anxious. "Get me a jeep, now."

Klinger looked stricken. He murmured something to Colonel Potter, who turned back to Rice with palm out. "Listen son, we'll have a jeep for you in an hour ―"

"Not good enough!" Rice screamed. He kicked BJ in the back, sending him curling into a ball in a spasm of pain. Hawkeye's fists clenched.

"Get me a way out of this camp now." Rice shrieked, "Or he dies."

For the third time that night, BJ had a gun pointed to the back of his head.

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	8. The Wounds

**I own it not**

Hawkeye's eyes showed almost as much pain as BJ's. How could he just sit here and watch his friend die? He wouldn't. But would he be able to stop it.

Colonel Potter was trying to talk the madman down, and Hawkeye saw beads of sweat form on the older man's neck. This situation was way out of control.

A thousand scenarios ran through Hawkeye's mind in less than a second. BJ being shot and dying...Rice then turning his gun on Potter, Klinger, and Margaret...the patients being killed where they should be getting better...a letter arriving to Peg in three weeks time, telling her about her dead husband...

Hawkeye didn't realize he was moving. His feet were flying before his body had time to process the idea. He was better off that way. If he had realized what he was about to do, he would have ran in the opposite direction away from the man with the gun.

He remembered screams coming from all present. A shot going off. A confusion of arms and legs. In the end, Hawkeye was on top of BJ and Rice was a little way away, on the ground still holding the gun.

Rice and Hawkeye stared at each other for a fraction of a second before the man brought the gun to his own head. Colonel Potter managed to take one step forward before he fired. All around him winced.

Hawkeye looked away as the gun went off for a second time. He gasped and scrambled off of his friend. BJ's breathing had was hard and uneven. Blood was seeping from the many cuts and gashed on his body. "Margaret get him into Post Op now!" Hawkeye's voice was high pitched and hysterical. He didn't notice the rest of the camp, which had been brought by the noise, looking at him. He didn't care.

Klinger was on the ground, one hand clutching his leg. Blood was seeping past his finger from the bullet wound. His teeth were gritted in pain. He moaned softly. Hawkeye dropped next to him automatically. He pried Klinger's fingers from the wound, murmuring to him, "I'm sorry Klinger. This shouldn't have happened."

Klinger's hand found Hawkeye's wrist and he looked at him, noticing how pale he was. "Take care of BJ. I'll be fine for a little while."

Hawkeye caught the eye of nurse Kelly and yelled to her. "Get Charles over here! We'll need some help." He gave Klinger's shoulder a last squeeze before half-running to the Operating Room which had, up until minutes ago, been BJ's cell.

Colonel Potter stepped next to him, face grave. "Look son, I know that you're all over the place right now. Maybe you should leave BJ to me and Charles. He'll be okay. Nothing will happen." His brows were furrowed in worry as he surveyed the younger man's rigged face. He looked like he'd been the one locked in a room with a madman.

Hawkeye didn't respond. He looked over his shoulder, past the closed doors. "Someone should take care of Rice's body."

The Colonel nodded sagely. "There are a lot of things we've got to take care of." His voice broke half-way through the last word. For the first time that night tears squeezed their way past his eyelids.

If he had looked to his left, he would have seen Hawkeye crying too.

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	9. The Feeling

**I own nothing. **

Hawkeye stood in OR, looking down at his patient. To his left, Colonel Potter and Charles were already working on BJ. He heard their small murmurings to the nurses but nothing else. It was driving him crazy.

The bullet had hit Klinger at the worst possible spot. It had grazed his lower leg bone, breaking it, and buried itself deep into the muscle. Because of an anesthetic shortage there was no way to put him completely under, so it was only local.

"Geeze Captain, I thought you were fixing me up." Klinger breathed, biting back a shout of pain as Hawkeye twisted the bullet out. He held up the slimy red mass and dropped it into a waiting container before taking out a few more fragments. Then Hawkeye looked up at Klinger.

"This is really going to hurt Klinger." He said quietly, never taking his eyes off Klinger's. "You ready? On my mark ―" He twisted quickly, snapping the bone back in place.

A howl of pain was let out, lasting for a split second before the man bit his tongue, tears squeezing out of his eyes. Hawkeye shook his head and started wrapping up the wound in a splint.

"You won't be able to walk for a couple of weeks Klinger." Hawkeye's voice was flat except for a small hitch that showed that he was deeply concerned for someone else.

Again Klinger wrapped his hands around Hawkeye's wrist as he finished with the bandaging. "I'm fine. Look after BJ." He glanced around Hawkeye at the still doctor. "Help him." A quick squeeze on the wrist before he gently got down, putting his weight on a chair.

Charles looked at BJ and tried to forget who it was. Bag after bag of blood was being hooked up to an IV, but would it be enough? He had lost so much blood that he shouldn't even be alive. The lost blood was drying in a pool just to the left of where he stood. There was so much of it. So, so much.

For the first time ever, Charles thought he would be sick during the operation. A wave of nausea washed over him as his hands and the wound came in and out of focus. He had cut open the stomach and was searching for the bullet. He wanted to get out of there. He wanted for none of this to have happened.  
He closed his eyes for a second, allowing the horrible feeling to flood him before making it go away. He was still in control. He would make sure Hunnicutt lived.

Charles found the bullet. It was a miracle it hadn't pierced any major organ. He extracted it, plunking into a dish along with a few pieces that had been left behind.

Another quick stitch and the wound was closed. His part was done. All he could do now was pray. He went out the double doors and collapsed onto the bench. He pressed his face into his hands and cried.

Some time later Charles looked up. Hawkeye was standing there. His eyes wide and pleading. He didn't say anything. He didn't have to. His eyes broke Charles' heart.

**I don't know if BJ's living, so don't ask. Just review, okay?**


	10. The Life

**I don't own it, you know.**

_Grief can take care of itself, but to get the full value of joy you must have somebody to divide it with._ _- Mark Twain _

Hawkeye hadn't slept for four days. BJ had done nothing but sleep.

Colonel Potter observed this and felt a pang in his chest that had nothing to do with old age. Since the two had been reunited, it was impossible to make Hawkeye leave BJ except to take care of the few wounded that had been sent to their hospital from the battle.

Potter tried to send him to bed, but he always ended up coming back, like last night.

"Why don't you go to bed, son? There's nothing you can do here." The Colonel tried to keep his voice gentle, but he knew the man needed sleep. The bags under his eyes attested to that.

Hawkeye looked at him, his eyes blank and staring, one hand still entwined with his friend's. Potter wanted to take back the words when he saw the look in Hawkeye's eye. The helpless, pleading look he'd seen on the faces of so many men that had passed under his care. Once they go that look, precious few were saved.

Colonel Potter sat on the edge of the bed, looking down at the man whose life still hung in the balance. In that second he knew that if BJ didn't pull through neither would Hawkeye. He swallowed hard before continuing, "We won't let anything happen to him. I promise. But you're not doing him a favor by not sleeping."

Hawkeye had eventually, reluctantly, gone to bed. But an hour later he was back, whether sleeping or awake, and was sitting back in the chair placed by the bed, threading his fingers through BJ's.

Colonel Potter now stood in Post-Op, bandaging a young man named Williams for the last time. The boy looked at him after he was finished, and Colonel Potter got the feeling that a man much older then twenty lay behind those eyes.

"That man over there, he's a doctor, right? The one that lunatic shot?" Colonel Potter nodded reluctantly. The boy's eyes opened wide.

"I'm real sorry mister. He sure was nice." He paused for a moment, then said. "That man who always is next to him, their friends aren't they?" Again, the Colonel nodded. "That's good. When he wakes up he'll have a familiar face to fight off the pain. That's what we do in my unit. We try to be their when someone wakes up. I think it helps."

Colonel Potter nodded, feeling tears spring to his eyes. He got up quickly so the young man wouldn't see the tears leak out like water through a broken faucet.

It was night when Hawkeye felt the hand beneath his move. He knew it was Margaret or Father Mulcahy or Klinger, who was still using a wheelchair, trying to pry him away from BJ again.

He opened his eyes anyway, and was looking when BJ opened his for the first time in nearly a week. Hawkeye shifted in his chair to get more comfortable, nearly falling back to sleep. He'd seen BJ awake so often in his dreams. It was a good dream.

But then a voice, small a hoarse, broke through the night. "Hawk?"

Hawkeye sat bolt upright with a yell that brought Charles, who was on duty, running. "What's wrong?" He asked quickly with uncharacteristic worry.

It took all of Hawkeye's self-control not to launch himself at BJ. He forced himself not to jostle his hurt friend too much and contented himself in screaming himself hoarse, waking up the entire camp and all of the patients.

People poured into Post-Op, beaming at BJ and adding to the noise. They formed a ring around the bed, none of them imposing on the scene that was unfolding before them.

Hawkeye was crying, tears falling thick and fast down his face and he fiercely hugged his friend, wrapping his arms securely around him. "You scared me." He admitted in a choked voice. "I thought I'd lost you."

"It's okay." BJ muttered softly, patting Hawkeye's back, tears in his own eyes. "I'm okay."

"Don't do that again." Hawkeye murmured, pulling himself away from his friend and staring him in the eye. "Don't ever do that to me again. I love you too much."

BJ smiled and Hawkeye could see that sleep was on its way. Real sleep, not the drug-induced coma he'd been in. Before his eyelids close, BJ managed to whisper something, so quietly that Hawkeye almost didn't hear it.

"I know, Hawk."

**I'm sad to see it go. Yeah, it's the end. Fin. Review anyway?**


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